XMen Part TwoFates
by axelanddeidara
Summary: Levana reveals the truth of her past-will it effect how Storm sees her?


The students of Xavier's school for gifted youngsters were peacefully awakened by the song of a piano, beautifully played on the foyer's baby grand. It was a sad song, its melody fainter from higher in the mansion it was heard from, but loud enough that everyone could hear it. It echoed through the whole mansion, and eventually some students came downstairs to listen. Other than Kurt, who ported to the foyer rather than taking the stairs. Storm lay on her bed, trying to drown it out with Bee Gees on her ipod. She knew who was playing.

Levana sat calmly at the piano, her hands clasped formally in her lap. Though her hands never touched the instrument, lovely sound came from the keys that appeared to be pressing themselves.

"You're very talented, " Jean commented, taking a seat next to her on the stool.

"Danke shun." She thanked the compliment.

_Do you hate me?_

Storm gasped at the sudden voice examining her earphones in puzzlement, until she realized it was Levava's voice. She ignored it and slowly traveled downstairs.

Logan strode into the kitchen, nearly colliding with a flying frying pan. Dumbfounded, he took a defensive stance, his eyes darting all over the room. There were eggs, bacon, sausage, and simmering onions cooking themselves on the stove, being stirred by floating utensils, salads tossing themselves, pancakes flipping themselves on the griddle, as if the kitchen was run by a team of ghosts.

"_Jean?_" Logan called in alarm.

"It's not me!" She called from the other room. It was then that he noticed the music coming from the foyer. He joined the others gathered around the piano.

"I thought you all would like some breakfast." Levana said, answering the imminent question on Logan's face. His mouth snapped shut, but opened again to say, "There's enough in there to feed the whole mansion!"

"I know."

The table set itself as they sat in their chairs, invisible waiters setting bowls, plates, and pitchers full of food and drink down the middle of the incredibly long dining table, where Xavier sat at its head. He smiled at Levana.

"How come _Jean_ never makes us breakfast?" Logan jested, taking a monstrous chunk of sausage. Kurt laughed, wolfing his fruit salad.

"Yeah!" Scott played along, "You guys are a lot alike! Same basic power and all."

"We are _NOTHING ALIKE!_" Jean roared, with an unexpected anger that startled everyone, a few forks slipping out of stricken fingers. All eyes were on her, though she paid no attention, only glaring at Levana.

"We have more in common than you think." She stated, her calm tranquil voice seeming to calm the room's tension. Other than Jean's. "In fact, I think I have a bit in common with all of you."

"How could we possibly have anything in common?" snapped the redhead.

"Well, as Scott said, our powers are similar."

"What about the rest of us? Logan urged.

"Kurt and I both hail from Germany…..Logan and I both lost our memory—"

"How do you know about that?" he hissed.

"Charles told me. As for the rest of you, I'm not sure yet, but I'm certain I'll find out soon. Oh and Charles, we both have telekinesis. And Magneto—"  
"_MAGNETO?!_" the entire group erupted in surprise.

"What in the world could be the same between yourself and iMagneto?/i" Xavier demanded. She paused for a moment, almost ashamed for mentioning her old friend's mutant name. She pulled up her black sleeve. "We went to the same camp." Her words set like stones as the tattoo on her arm seemed to drip with painful memory, that they all felt seep into their beings by merely setting eyes on it. Storm's spoon clanged to the table as her shaking hands covered her mouth, instantly guilty for being so rude to the psychic before.

Levana, embarrassed, slowly stood from the table, and stalked to her room, feeling the others' gazes pierce her back.

Ororo didn't speak for the rest of the day.

* * *

**Germany 1944**

The Gypsy stood outside the circus tent, awaiting the return of her Carnie lover. He ported behind her, tapping her unsuspecting shoulder, causing her to spin around with a shriek. Her playful grin set another one alight on Kurt's mouth. Happiness is contagious.

"Kurt." She said, her coin-fringed sash and bandana jingling as she turned.

"Lev," he spoke her nickname lovingly, twirling her hair with his indigo finger before kissing her sweetly. Levana held his hands in hers and said, "Kurt, I must go."

"But why? You've only been here a few years!" he replied, horrified.

"The caravan is leaving." She pointed to the west, where the sun was slowly setting upon the wagons of the Roma, who were all packing up their things and storing them into the horse-drawn wagons. He was speechless, his eyes full of pain. "They only stopped here to offer fortune-telling and jewelry to people on their way to the circus. The circus is over, and so is out stay here." Her throat swelled at the thought of leaving him. "This is the longest we have ever stayed in one place…I can't believe they're deciding to leave now." She touched his face tearfully.

"But you can stay!" he begged, grasping her shoulders desperately. "You can stay with me and travel with the circus!"

"They are my people, Nightcrawler. I must stay with my people." Her voice cracked.

"No! I…Lev…Levana, I love you!" She held his face, tears streaming freely down both of their faces.

"I love you, Schöne." She kissed him with a pained passion, then sobbed, "Goodbye." She ran into the sunset, moving with her people to their next home.

Kurt watched the caravan inch away, traveling down the rolling hills. He cried silently, his eyes never leaving the trail of wagons until the sun set, and the wagons disappeared behind a cover of trees. He was scared for her. He'd bee hearing things here and there….whispers of death and something about a _super race_…..but the two words he heard most often were _Jew_ and _Fuhrer_. He hoped she would be alright. He knew she couldn't die, but…who knows what could happen to her? Were there things worse than death?

Logan strode down the hallway, and rapped on Levana's door.

"Come in," she called, just as Kurt ported into the room. "What is it? She asked them both. Logan motioned to Kurt, a way of telling him '_You first_.'

He nodded and said, "'Vhy are you here? Have you finally decided to stay in one place?"

She nodded slowly. "I thought…perhaps it was time to abandon my nomadic ways. After all, the way of the Gypsy is quite primitive nowadays. So I thought….here would be the best place."

"I am relieved to see that you're doing 'vell, of course…But all 'zhese years 'vi'zhout a clue of 'vhat happened to you….Almost unbearable."

"I'm so sorry, Schöne."

"What _did_ happen?" Logan cut in curiously.

"The sun had just set." She automatically began to recite the story, "I had just finished crying when the caravan came to a clearing in the forest, where the trail suddenly stopped. At that moment….I knew it was a trap." She held her hands out to the two, Kurt immediately holding her right hand, but Logan raising his eyebrow in puzzlement.

"Take my hand." She urged. "I have always found it easier to _show_ a story rather than telling it."

He nervously took her hand. The instant their fingers touched, all three of them were blasted through some sort of portal. They saw the rolling hills, the winding trail, the train huffing down its track with the circus in its cars, the forest, the clearing.

"What is this?" Logan said, his gravelly voice muffled by a smothering aura.

They saw the caravan from above, as though they were flying above the clearing. They stood on the grass as if they were part of the memory, like they were at the scene, or had actually been there so many years ago. Levana gazed at Logan, who nodded. This vision answered his previous question. They watched suspensfully at this virtual memory movie, wondering how it would play out. Among other Gypsies, they spotted Levana at the head of the caravan, dressed in a gown of linen sashes, her bandana jingling as she walked. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, and she sniffled as she spoke in an incomprehensible tongue to her dark-haired companion in awe.

There was gunshot. The boom echoed like a sonic wave. Birds fluttered from the trees. There was a shriek of pain, and a collective gasp of worry. A mustached Gypsy man fell to the ground in agony, clutching a red-stained shoulder. The man's son rushed to his side, just as another shot was fired. And then another. More screams, as a group of men in green uniforms came from the trees. The one that had obviously shot, was holding a smoking pistol, pointed directly at a member of the caravan. The other man had shotguns, machine guns, even small explosives.

Levana looked concerned, scared, but not for herself. She kept calm,. And spoke to her companion again. The companion repeated her words to a person at her side, and the message was passed across the trail of wagons.

"What are you whispering!!!" One man with a shotgun yelled, firing a warning shot into the sky. It went quiet.

Everyone stepped out of the safety of the wagons, standing behind Levana loyally.

"What are they doing?"

"What's going on?"

"They're scaring me."

"Shoot them!"

"No, not yet."

The men muttered amongst themselves.

Logan and Kurt noticed in unison the swastikas on the mens' sleeves.

"Oh my god." They're voices harmonized.

Out of the blue, Levana held her arms out to her sides, stepping forward three paces. More muttering from the Nazis' rose the Gypsies' hearts into their throats, wondering who was about to be shot. But as they knew she would, she lived up to her reputation, and protected them at the last moment. When the Socialists paused, for just a second, Levana lifted every wagon with all her might from the ground, and swirled them in the air above her, like a massive wooden halo. The soldiers were too stricken to react, until she slammed one wagon onto a team of three at the edge of the green-clothed group. It landed with a deafening crash, everything that was inside the wagon shattering.

After a moment of no sound but revolving airborne wagons, an immense explosion erupted from the fallen wagon, the ones it had crashed on had had bombs. Everything was in chaos from then on. They shot, Levana attacked, thrashing and tossing wagons, but by the time only one wagon was left aloft above her, all her people had perished. She stopped herself from sending out the last wagon, for a long look around at her deceased comrades. Tears already rolled down her cheeks. Women, children, families. People she knew, trusted, loved. She decided: she would vow to never love again.

Before she had the chance to sob—searing pain entered her stomach, not nearly as bad as the agony in her heart. She looked down at her blood-sullied gown, and then at the last Nazi standing. He chucked his pistol to the ground, resorting to his fallen teammate's rapid fire machine gun. He pried it from his the body's cold hands, and held the trigger.

Levana had never experienced something like this….All other bullets she had blocked, other than the last pistol's. But these--_bangbangbangbangbangbangbang_--came in such quick succession, she had no time to respond. Her body shook with each _bang_, until finally his ammo ran out. She collapsed spastically to the ground, blood spilling from her mouth. The wounded soldier deserted the weapon and limped to Levana's side triumphantly.

"Who's the winner?" he wheezed. "Us. It's always us. You mutants—just like the Jews—and you're a _Gypsy_ on top of it! You are destined to burn—" before he could finish his speech, he choked gutturally, blood pooling in his lips. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell, dead.

Levana would remember his words forever…his last words. She fell into a dark unconscious abyss.

"Over here!" were the next words she heard. She forced her eyes open, to set upon yet another team of Nazis, coming to retrieve their fallen associates. They checked the pulses of each cold man, each shaking their head, the same. All dead. One man noticed the strange girl looking right at him. Her icy eyes pierced right through him, giving him the chills. He moved to escape her gaze, but her eyes followed him. "This one's alive!" he screamed. All the soldiers sped to the only breathing Gypsy. They carried her to some sort of train car…that was stuffed with many other people…all of them crying or sobbing…..and it _stunk_. She caught a glimpse of their faces before the door slid shut and it was dark again. It was a while before she saw light again.

Hours and hours of stinking misery later—the door opened again. Her eyes squinted through the sudden blinding light. As soon as her vision adjusted, as far as she could see was nothing but dismal, gray, cement, barbed wire.

Kurt and Logan were eternally grateful that they couldn't _smell_ the memory.

The scent of death that wafted throughout miles of this place seeped into you like a painful injection.

She faintly remembers being pushed into a small room with so many others crowded behind her. She was stripped of her clothes, possessions, everything, as were the others that followed. Girls forced into one room, boys to the other. Her head was shaved, and they crammed her into a brown uniform, also smelling of grease, sweat, and death. Through the sobbing and whining of the other females at having their things stolen, heads shaved—Levana seemed unnaturally calm. The most painful for her was the buzzing; the buzzing of the needle as the ink penetrated the skin on her wrist. The one physical wound she had that would never heal.

Kurt and Logan were speechless. Silent as the vision went black. They sat motionless in the dark, until the memory flickered to gray all around them, another dark day at the camp. The first thing in view was a line of workers, all in uniforms, all skinny, dirty, and visibly hurt. They carried rocks from one place to another, boulders. Smashing them, only to bring the pieces back to where they started. A pointless chore. One Nazi watched ruthlessly over them, shouting commands at the prisoners. They saw Levana in her brown uniform, helping one in gray to carry a boulder to the other side of the yard. Her onyx hair had already grown down to her jaw, while the others still had only thick fuzz on their heads. She barely filled her uniform, just a rack of bones. They worked relentlessly, until they were finally allowed to rest.

Levana hadn't spoken to anyone since she was taken there, and she always rested alone, at her spot where she leaned against the chain-link fence that separated the workers from the iFates/i as she came to call them. Fates, because anyone on that side of the fence was destined to die.

She sat on a squareish boulder and leaned back against the fence. She closed her eyes, smoothing a rock in her hands as she leaned her head up to face the sun. She listened intently, and she caught a faint whimper from behind her. After a moment the whimper evolved to sobbing. She peeked over her shoulder to peek through the chain-link to see who it was. There was a boy, a little one. He held his face in his hands, crying with his back against the fence. She stared at him, and listened to his shaky breathing. He was thinner than she was, and much smaller. He had to be only ten or eleven. Levana pitied him more than she paid attention to her own pain. Perhaps it was her gentle heart, or maybe it was how different this boy was from everyone else. He was alone like her. "What's your name?" her voice strained from lack of use.

His head jerked behind him in surprise. "What's it to you?" he snapped.

Those were the first words she had spoken in five months, and ithis/i is the reply she gets?

She gave a weak smile. "I just want to know."

He gave in. It wasn't in his nature to be hostile. "Eric."

"Hello, Eric. I'm Levana."

"Hello." He wiped his tears.

Kurt and Logan were unable to re-hinge their jaws, which had fallen open in astonishment.

"Why are you crying?" Levana asked with sincere concern, though she knew the answer. He was on the Fate side of the fence.

"Many reasons." He said.

"Do you feel like talking to me about it?"

A whistle sounded from the watch tower. Levana was forced back to work, but she reluctantly took the hammer in her hands, her eyes never leaving Eric, who had been jammed into a long line. "Oh no…" she whispered to herself. Although she had just met him, she felt responsible for his well being….Motherly instinct? Maybe even sisterly? She didn't know. Her eyes pooled with tears at he thought of her only new friend meeting his demise so early in his life. She would not stand for it! She had to do something!

A Nazi shoved her into her useless work, whipping her when she slowed. Eric felt like screaming at the sight of it. He was ushered further as the line shortened, the first ones in file entering some sort of chamber. They had smiles on their faces. Levana gazed into their eyes. She saw now….they thought they were all having a shower, finally, clean, clean, clean! But she looked into the face of a Nazi and knew that was not the case.


End file.
